the miserable life of a miserable teenager -
tw arson
like pouring the kerosene.
Go for the razor,
like grabbing a match.
Show my pain,
like lighting the match.
And finally, indulge in the madness,
like dropping the match.
Watch my childhood home, burn.
With it, all the memories, or as I call them
nightmares.
My brother and his friends never threw a worm in my hair and ran away laughing, while I walked home crying.
I never got in trouble the first day we ever saw the house, for sitting on the patio ledge. Never cried in front of the realtor.
I never cried in my daddy’s arms as I told him I was suicidal, purposely keeping out the reason, and he never let go.
Say goodbye, it’s all in flames.
Not literally,
but as the blood stains my carpet,
I feel farther than that shy little girl,
than her father.
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